Curse of the Basilisk
by Adalanta
Summary: Harry may have killed the Basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets but the battle is far from over. Now, his friends must keep him alive until help can come. *New Chapter Up!* I also uploaded the previous chapters in HTML with a few changes.
1. The Closed Window

Curse of the Basilisk

By Adalanta

Disclaimer: The characters used in this story are the property of J. K. Rowling, although the plot (such that it is) is mine. This story was written purely for fun (and to get the idea out of my head so I could actually think!). I'm not getting a dime from this. This is my first fanfic, so please Read and Review. I welcome all comments so feel free to email me at adalanta14@yahoo.com. This will be a multi-chapter story, and if you all seem to like it, I'll post the rest as soon as my schedule lets me write them.

I'm giving this a PG-13 rating for violence but I think that's a stretch. 

Chapter One: The Closed Window

"Stupid boy! Watch what you're doing! Do you want us to starve?!" Vernon Dursley shouted as the young boy carrying his breakfast stumbled. 

"S-Sorry, Uncle Vernon." Harry Potter stuttered. Cautious of his uncle's terrible temper, he quickly moved to the other side of the table and began serving the marinated steak and fried eggs to his aunt rather than his uncle in a futile attempt to keep away from Vernon's heavy fists. He hoped his uncle would not notice the change in routine. He was wrong.

"Don't call me that!" Mr. Dursley snarled. "I'm no relation to you! Hurry up! And why are you serving her? You know I always go first!" 

He could see Vernon's face turning red with rage and couldn't help but cringe inwardly as he finished serving Aunt Petunia and moved on to Dudley. The fat boy gave him a malicious grin, knowing what was going to happen, as he placed a large mound on steak and eggs on his plate. The Dursleys had finally given up on Dudley's diet. He had not lost a single pound since his parents had started him on it before Harry had left for school more than a year before. Little did they know that Dudley had been stealing money from them and smuggling food home from school. Harry could hear the pig-like sounds of gorging coming from his cousin's room late at night when his aunt and uncle were asleep. 

Now finished with Dudley, Harry braced himself and began serving Vernon. Trying to hurry, he accidentally dropped one tiny piece of steak onto the lemony-yellow linoleum floor. He never saw the massive fist move.

Crack! Harry flew back against the wall and fell to the floor, momentarily stunned. He didn't move when Vernon grabbed him by the collar and began dragging him up the stairs. He only vaguely heard him muttering about "freaks" and "unnaturalness" and "beating the nonsense out of the boy."

He closed his eyes to reduce his pounding headache, trying to keep himself from vomiting on his uncle. That would only make him angrier and prolong the beating. He felt the floor come up to meet his body, smashing the air out of his lungs. The last thing he heard was the door of his room being slammed. He didn't even feel it when Vernon began punching and kicking him furiously.

*******************

Time blurred. Whenever he tried to move, he nearly screamed with pain. Harry bit his lower lip to keep from crying out. He would not give his uncle the satisfaction. After several failed attempts, he managed to crawl the whole three feet to his bed and feebly clawed a thin blanket from the bed. He weakly tried to cover himself with it one-handed. 

Harry didn't know how long it had been. He had completely lost the ability to track time. The only thing he knew was day and night from the amount of light shining in from his miniscule window. 

He finally was alert enough to assess his injuries, despite the pain that racked his thin frame every time he moved. The most painful of his injuries was his right arm. It was clearly broken just above the elbow with the bone piercing through the skin, causing his whole arm to jut out at an odd angle from his body. Just looking at it made him feeling like vomiting, or was that still from the large, bloody lump on the back of his head? He wasn't quite sure which. 

It hurt to breathe. Sharp, stabbing pain filled his chest whenever he took a breath. Because of this, he'd been forced to take short gasps for air. He'd had a crashing headache every time he'd awoke but now was beginning to feel lightheaded as well. 

For a while, Harry lay on his back, staring up at the dull white ceiling. He weakly raised his bruised left arm and wiped his face to relieve a strange tickling sensation. Only after feeling the dampness on his hand did he realize that he was sweating profusely. _I wonder why_, he thought vaguely. _I suppose it is rather hot in here._ He closed his eyes and let his mind wander. 

He thought about his best friends, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. In his mind, he saw Ron sitting in his bedroom, red hair clashing with the orange glow of the room from all of his Chudley Cannons posters and pictures. He looked happy, laughing at some joke that Fred and George were playing on Percy. 

He saw Hermione bent over her desk in study, looking through one of her numerous textbooks, chewing her lower lip in frustration. He heard a woman's voice calling her name. Hermione glanced up from her book, eyes unfocused and sighed in frustration. "I'm coming, Mum, just give me a minute. I need to finish this chapter!" 

Just thinking about his friends gave Harry a small measure of relief. No matter how badly he was hurt, at least his friends were all right. If he could survive three different attacks by Lord Voldemort, he could take a few beatings from a Muggle. He would make it – as long as nothing happened to his friends. His exhausted body finally caught up with his wandering mind, and he drifted to sleep.

*******************

A snowy white owl flew through the night, feeling happy. She was almost home – only three streets away. It had been so long. She missed her master. He talked to her. He scratched her head just the way she liked it. And best of all, he gave her treats whenever she came back from message delivery. Ah, there went that row of houses. Only two more.

She flung out her wings and let the air currents push her this way and that. She loved the freedom of flight. It was one thing that her owner's nasty relations couldn't take away from her. She remembered the fight that her owner and that horrible fat man had gotten into when he'd tried to lock her in the shed. She'd almost clawed that awful man's eyes out when he'd struck her master. She would have, too, if her master hadn't stopped her. Ever since, her master had kept his window open. So she could escape, even if he could not.

Okay. Only one street left. She was beginning to feel tired. She had gone a long way this time. It had taken her a whole week to find the strange dark-haired man. He had been very kind though. He reminded her of her master. And the smile on his face when he received her master's letter…

There. Her master's home. She drifted down, hurrying to see her master – and narrowly missed smashing into his closed window. Closed? Why was it closed? He never closed it. He hadn't all summer.

She fluttered anxiously outside his window, trying to see into the dark room. Her sharp yellow eyes did not see anything at first. Her master was not in his bed. Where was he? She decided to take a chance and lightly tapped the window with her beak. Nothing. She tried again. And again.

Finally, she saw movement. A dirty blanket moved on the floor. Wait a minute. That was not just a blanket – that was her master! She flapped her wings, trying to get a better view but soon gave up.

She knew something was wrong with her master. He would let her in if he could. He must be hurt. She had to get help! The closest place was her master's friend. And it was so far…It did not matter. She gave a soft, reassuring hoot to her master and then soared off, flying swifter than ever before.

********************

"Hurry, Dad!"

"I am! Just give me a minute, Ron!"

"I just know something's wrong with Harry!" Ron muttered as his father finished pulling on his green robes. Hedwig had arrived just minutes earlier, hooting and pecking at Ron's bedroom window. Ron knew at once that Harry was in trouble. He'd never seen Hedwig act that way, especially when it was three in the morning. He nervously paced the length of his parents' bedroom as his father finished dressing.

"Arthur, do you think something's happened?" Mrs. Weasley asked anxiously. Harry was practically part of the family, especially after taking care of him that summer right after he had been "liberated" from his uncle's by Ron, Fred, and George. "I'm going to contact Professor Dumbledore! Surely, he can help Harry if he's in some kind of trouble."

"Fine, Molly, fine." Mr. Weasley muttered distractedly. He was searching his bedroom for his misplaced wand. "Ah, here it is!" He gave a quick kiss to his wife. "Don't worry. Everything will be fine. Come on, Ron!" Mr. Weasley flicked his wand and uttered a disapparation spell. Ron felt a brief moment of fear as his world went black. 

The Weasleys reappeared in the middle of a quiet suburban street bracketed on both sides by medium-sized well-kept houses. Ron looked at his father in frustration. "Why didn't we go straight to Harry's house, Dad? This is an emergency!"

Mr. Weasley shook his head and started walking in a fast pace, forcing Ron to almost run to keep up with his father's long stride. "We can't. After that first scare with You-Know-Who two years ago, the Ministry of Magic decided to take some precautions to protect Harry during his summer break."

"Harry never told me."

"That's because he doesn't know. Mr. Fudge didn't want to alarm Harry, which is crazy because Harry already knows that You-Know-Who is after him." Mr. Weasley snorted in disgust. "Anyway, the Ministry decided to make this area a Blackout Zone for Apparation and Disapparation. It interferes with wizards and witches trying to come within a full kilometer of Harry's house. The side effects of the spell are quite nasty. Although I've never been officially told what happens, I've heard some of the rumors from those who helped conjure it." He stopped talking for a few seconds, trying to catch his breath. "Something about…well…I don't want to make you more upset than you already are, Ron. I'll tell you when you're older."

If Mr. Weasley expected Ron to complain, he was mistaken. Ron was too busy worrying about his friend to care about the specifics of any spell. He glanced over at his father and saw the concern shining in his eyes. It was full moon, so there was no need for his father to create any light with his wand. 

"There it is." Mr. Weasley slowed to a stop a couple houses down from Harry's but had to grab Ron's arm to keep him from bolting into the house. "Hold it a second. Now, listen. We can't just walk up to the door and demand to see Harry. We're going to sneak in through his bedroom window upstairs. That way we won't wake the Muggles and make this thing worse than it already is. After all, we don't know for sure that Harry's in trouble. Do you understand, son?"

"Yeah. I guess. What are you going to do?"

"I don't have time to explain. Just stay close to me, okay? I'll go in first and then bring you up."

Ron nodded and they both took off, slipping silently through the shadows of the nearby houses. When they had finally reached Harry's house, Mr. Weasley leaned over and whispered, "Which room is Harry's?"

"That one. The third from the end."

Walking cautiously, Mr. Weasley moved closer until he was directly underneath Harry's window. He pointed his wand at himself and whispered a levitation spell. Slowly, he began to rise into the air, and just when Ron thought his father was going to overshoot his objective, he saw his father's lips move again. Mr. Weasley stopped directly in front of Harry's window. Ron watched intently as his father pointed his wand at the bars holding his friend captive. He jumped back in alarm when the bars transfigured into five tiny garden snakes that fell from above, almost landing on Ron. For a brief second, he smirked at the snakes, wondering what Harry would say to them if he were here. Sensing his father's movement above him, he jerked his attention away from the green wriggling things just in time to see his father enter Harry's room.

*******************

Arthur Weasley didn't know what to expect as he crawled in through the open window, but even his wildest imaginations could not prepare him for what he found. 

As he'd levitated outside the window, he'd tried to see inside the dark room. But the moon was on the other side of the house, leaving him to work in shadows. Once he'd dropped into the small room, he couldn't see a thing. Frustrated, he muttered "Lumos," and his wand began to glow. Sudden light pierced the darkness. He automatically moved towards the bed in the corner but never made it. 

One moment, he was tiptoeing through the room and the next, his foot caught on something, and he was falling. He flung his arms out to grab something – anything – but could not catch himself in time. THUMP! 

He froze, listening intently for a sound from one of the other rooms, holding his breath. An eternity passed, but he did not hear a sound. _Oh, thank Merlin! _Annoyed, yet curious, he turned to see what Muggle contraption had caused him to trip… 

…and froze in horror.

It was Harry. Lying on the floor. Bloody. Pale. Not moving.

Arthur dropped to his knees beside the still figure partially covered with a dirty blanket. "Harry! Oh, my –". He reached out a trembling hand to touch the boy's cheek and was shocked when Harry flinched at his light touch. He drew back his hand as if burned. The boy was burning up and covered in sweat, his black hair matted to his forehead totally obscuring the scar on his forehead. _Sweet Merlin, Harry, what did they do to you?_ _What happened?_ Arthur felt a small measure of relief, despite Harry's upsetting reaction. At least he knew the boy was alive. Barely.

He pushed the terrifying thought to the back of his mind. He had to get Harry out of here – now. He glanced down at the boy and quickly made up his mind. He yanked a thin blanket off of Harry's bed and began to maneuver it around the semi-conscious teenager, but stopped when he moaned loudly in pain. _Dear heavens, what's wrong now?_ He carefully peeled the bloody blanket from Harry's body.

He gasped loudly when he saw the bloody, broken arm with the bone poking through the skin. The sight almost made him sick, and he was forced to turn away and take a deep breath to calm his stomach. He hated to move the boy and cause him more pain, but it was better than the alternative. He would not leave him in this house for one minute longer. 

Gritting his teeth, Mr. Weasley dropped the bloody blanket that covered Harry and continued to wrap him in the other blanket, all the while trying to ignore his agonized moans and whimpers and murmuring reassuring phrases to sooth both himself and his young charge. Just when he thought he couldn't take one more second of the heart-wrenching sound, Harry passed out from the pain, and his body went limp in his arms. _At least he won't feel me move him. _He gathered the limp bundle to his chest and carefully levitated back out the window to freedom.

*******************

Ron watched his father disappear into his best friend's bedroom. He stayed still and listened but couldn't hear a thing, which he figured was a good sign. If he couldn't hear them, then the Dursleys' probably couldn't either. Tearing his gaze away, he nervously shifted his slight weight from foot to foot and thought about his friend. 

He hadn't heard from Harry since they had returned home from Hogwarts about a month ago. He figured it was because Harry's relatives were keeping him from answering his letters, assuming he had even received them. Ron glanced up again, expecting to see his father leaning out of the window, ready to levitate Ron up. The window was still empty.

Next, he stared up at the full moon, wondering about his latest Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, Remus Lupin. Ron had only discovered right before the end of the term that Professor Lupin was a werewolf. He shivered, remembering how close he had come to being attacked by him; without the help of Sirius Black, falsely convicted murderer and Harry's godfather, he could have been killed or even worse, been bitten and become a werewolf himself. Still, he had no bad feelings against Professor Lupin. He had been a good teacher and a trusted ally – when he was not in his werewolf phase. Ron grinned ruefully.

He fidgeted. What was taking so long? Why hadn't his father come to get him? Was Harry gone? He had paced a few feet from the house when he heard a soft _bump_ behind him and his name called in a strangled voice.

The first thing he saw as he twisted around was his father holding what looked to be a pile of blankets. He couldn't identify what it was in the shadows. The next thing he noticed was his father's extraordinarily pale face. "Dad? Where's Harry?" he whispered.

Mr. Weasley just stared at him, then replied in a hushed voice, "Not now, Ron." With those words, he started walking swiftly away from the house, not looking back to see if Ron was coming.

Ron ran to catch up with his father, furious that they were leaving Harry behind and confused with his father's behavior. "What are you doing?! We can't just leave him there! Where is he? Why didn't you let me come up? Why –." He choked as a limp, white arm fell out of the pile of blankets, glowing palely in the full moonlight. _No. Please, no. _

His vision began to grow fuzzy about the edges and a dull roaring filled his ears. He couldn't move – his legs were cemented to the ground. He stared in horror at the bundle. Now he knew what it was – a person wrapped in a shroud. Harry. "No," he whispered, his throat so tight that the sound barely came out.

__

He's dead. I was too late. He's dead. 

"Ron. Ron! Snap out of it!" A familiar voice brought Ron partially back to his senses. "We don't have time for this! We have to get him home NOW if we're going to have a chance to save him."

"S-Save him? You…you mean h-he's not – not dead?" Ron mumbled through the haze that obscured his vision. He couldn't have had heard his father right. _No one could be that pale and still be alive,_ he thought numbly.

"No, he's not dead. Not yet. But he's hurt very badly and needs help. Now move!" 

Ron's vision swiftly cleared as the adrenaline rush swept through his body, and he began running stiffly after his dad once more. He kept repeating one phrase over and over: He's not dead. He's not dead. He's not dead. His father's footsteps seemed to fall in time with the phrase, each footstep taking his best friend closer to safety. 

He blinked when his father came to a sudden halt and carefully laid Harry on the soft grass beside the road. He withdrew his wand from his pocket and then knelt beside the boy and pulled him back into his arms, trying not to jostle him. Ron barely had time to realize that they had reached the edge of the Blackout Zone and were free to apparate back to the Burrow before his father whispered the spell, and they vanished. The only trace of their presence was a small area of brownish-red grass by the edge of the curb. 


	2. An Unexplainable Reaction

Curse of the Basilisk

By Adalanta

Disclaimer/Notes: Thanks so much to you all who reviewed my first chapter. Your encouragement means a lot to me. Let me know what you think! All previous disclaimers apply. 

Chapter Two: An Unexplainable Reaction

A scream shattered the early morning silence, bouncing off the walls of the Burrow like a crazy Bludger let loose.

Molly Weasley stood frozen in the center of the kitchen – one hand clutching the back of a rickety chair in a white-knuckled grip, the other shakily covering her mouth. She had just sent their new messenger owl, Last Chance, off with a letter to Professor Dumbledore when she'd heard the soft **_pop_** of someone apparating behind her and turned around with a gentle smile, ready to welcome Harry Potter into their home for the third summer in a row. Expecting a short, green-eyed boy to be grinning at her, she had instead been met with her husband carrying a blanket wrapped body. She did the only logical thing – she screamed.

For what seemed like an eternity, no one moved. The scream echoed through the house, up all five floors, and out the unshuttered windows. Then…silence. 

"Molly, dear, you could be a bit more helpful." Arthur Weasley stated in a strained voice. "We need someplace for Harry to lie down."

Snapping her jaw shut with an audible click, Molly grabbed her wand from the pocket of her brown robe. Now that she had something to do, she would be fine. _After all, I didn't panic when Percy started growing that second head after eating the twins' candy, now did I? _

A few hurried spells later, and the living room sofa had turned into a good-sized soft bed for Harry. Unfortunately, the bed (being much larger than the sofa it replaced) took up so much room that a person could not get around it. This problem was solved rather quickly, too; the walls of the living room were simply moved back a few feet, adding the much needed room and allowing the Weasleys to breath again. Molly absently noted the surprised expression on Ron's face and wryly thought, _He's probably wondering why we didn't do that before now._ She could not take the time to explain that at the moment, though.

Mr. Weasley gently eased his burden onto the red and gold bedcovers. Molly gulped as she caught her first glimpse of Harry when her husband began to cautiously unwrap the silent boy. The sight of his deathly white face, topped by unruly black hair plastered to his forehead, tore at her heart. Reaching out a trembling hand, she brushed the damp bangs from his face. Only when she felt the intense heat sear into her palm did she realize the high degree of his fever.

"Arthur," she whispered softly so Ron, backed up against the far wall in shock, could not overhear her. "His fever is so high but his skin is clammy. That's not normal…"

Her husband shook his head and continued to pull the blankets away, an excruciatingly slow process. "I know." When he pulled the top blanket away from Harry's right arm, he realized he had made a ghastly mistake. The wound had reopened sometime during the escape and bled extensively, causing the lower blanket to adhere to his arm like a second skin. Cutting would be the only way to get it off. He flipped the blanket back over Harry's arm and weakly turned to his wife who was tenderly caressing the boy's face. "Oh, god, Molly. Go get some scissors." He said hoarsely.

Returning with the needed tool, she handed them over with a puzzled frown. "Why…" she questioned.

"He's got a compound fracture in his arm, and it bled sometime when I moved him." He glanced up, wide brown eyes filled with agony. "I didn't want to move him – but I couldn't just leave him there with those –" He carefully cut the blanket several times and then literally peeled it off and dropped it to the floor. The arm was finally free and in the open.

Molly gasped, appalled at the grotesque wound and averted her face. "If his arm is that bad…Arthur, he has to be hurt somewhere else." She glanced involuntarily at the arm, and shivered. "Thank Merlin he's unconscious. The pain would have been unbearable."

"He wasn't totally out when I tried to move him." He blanched, hearing the heart-wrenching cries once again in his mind. "He finally passed out." He cleared his throat, pushing back the horrifying memories for later. "We need to get it fixed to stop the bleeding. Then we can check him for any other injuries." He paused for a second, staring down at the still figure on the bed. "You can repair his arm, right? I think I remember you telling me that one of the boys…"

She nodded and the corners of her mouth turned upward slightly. "I've got just the spell. Step back a bit, dear." She uttered a few words and a white film drifted out of the tip of her wand, enveloping the injured arm. It started to glow white, then suddenly altered to a deep green. "What the –" She began but faltered. 

Harry was convulsing. 

His back arched completely off the bed, and a tortured scream was torn from his throat, a sound that Molly knew she'd hear forever in her nightmares. She watched in horror as the young boy began to shake uncontrollably, limbs flailing, head thrashing from side to side. 

But as terrifying as the sight was, the sounds he made were unbearable. Harsh grunts and agonized cries emerged from the convulsing child.

After a moment of petrified shock, Molly rushed forward with her husband and tried to hold Harry down, restraining him from further injury. But the seizure had lent the boy unbelievable strength, and seconds later he tore loose from their hands. He rolled over, writhing precariously on the edge of the bed. 

She didn't know where to hold him. His right arm was out of the question. Putting a hand on his chest and firmly pressing down, she felt the bones move beneath her hand and cried out in shock. _His ribs are broken!_ Sobbing silently, she took hold of his shuddering right shoulder instead. Arthur had regained his grasp on Harry's other shoulder, but they still could not control his wild movements. She felt first one finger loose its grip. Then two. Three. A drop of sweat slipped into her already tearing eyes, and she blinked in pain. _I – can't – hold – him. He's – going to – fall._ She groaned aloud in frustration. And just as she lost her hold…

…a small pair of hands appeared beside her on Harry, holding his convulsing body on the bed. Then another pair. And another. She couldn't look up to see to whom the hands belonged. She couldn't think. She couldn't speak. In the back of her mind, she thought she heard someone speaking in a calm, soothing voice, but found it impossible to identify the voice.

After what seemed like an eternity, the racking convulsions and agonized cries slowed and then stopped, leaving behind an utterly still boy. Molly held her breath, unsure if he was still alive. Her brown eyes were riveted to his chest, and in those few seconds, she prayed more fervently than ever before. 

Harry's chest began to move upward as if against its will as he drew in a raspy gasp for air and then began to breathe shallowly. Letting out a heavy sigh, she moved her intense gaze up to his face, appalled to see the pale grayness that had replaced the whiteness. She carefully slid the pillow back underneath his head, hoping the small bit of leverage might ease his breathing, and smoothed back his sweat-dampened hair. 

Molly stepped back from the bed and lifted a trembling hand to her damp face, pushing back darkened tendrils of her disheveled red hair. Closing her eyes, she tried to slow her own pounding heart by taking deep breaths. It didn't seem to help. She was still shaking, completely unnerved and unprepared for what had just transpired in her living room. _I don't understand_, she thought numbly. _What happened? _

She barely felt the steady arm that wrapped around her quivering shoulders and led her away, smoothly settling her into a nearby chair. Realizing she was at the kitchen table, she dropped her swimming head on her pillowed arms and attempted to relax. A light hand remained on her shoulder the entire time, lending strength and support, as for the next few minutes, she concentrated wholly on her breathing and slowly regained her composure. Finally feeling ready to face the situation again, she opened her eyes – 

- and looked directly into the concerned brown eyes of her daughter Ginny.

*******************

Ginny bolted upright in her dark bedroom, instantly awake, and clutched the covers to her chest. She wasn't quite sure what had caused her to wake. She had been in the middle of the weirdest dream – a strange creature she had never seen had been attacking her brother's best friend, Harry Potter, trying to bite him. The oddest thing about it, though, was the fact that she had been right beside Harry, encouraging him in the battle.

__

Why would I be dreaming about Harry Potter? I haven't even seen him since the ride home on the Hogwarts Express. I didn't even ride in the same compartment! She shook her head dismissively. Dreams usually didn't make sense.

Then a memory crept into mind, one she had been trying to bury for the last year. Upsetting images assailed her mind. The magical diary. Tom Riddle. The Chamber of Secrets. Harry Potter covered in blood. The basilisk. She closed her eyes tightly to keep the tears from escaping. She still felt terribly guilty about the whole mess even though everyone (even Dumbledore!) reassured her that it was not her fault. She had a hard time believing that. 

__

I must have been thinking about what happened. But the dream felt so real…Oh, come off it, Ginny, she told herself harshly. _Get a hold of yourself. You're not a little girl anymore! _Lying back down, she snuggled into the lavender sheets. She felt her body begin to relax and let it, welcoming sleep with the open arms of the weary. 

An agonized scream pierced the air, scaring Ginny half to death. _What is going on?!_ She leaped out of bed, grabbed her purple robe, and wrestled into it. Snatching a scrunchie from her dresser, she gathered her long, red hair into a ponytail as she hurried to the bedroom door and twisted the knob with a trembling hand.

As she rushed out into the hall, she noted the sound of a door slamming on the floor above. She bolted down the stairs and tripped but a frantic grab on the handrail saved her from embarrassment and/or injury. By the time she recovered her balance, the twins swept past, forcing her to hang on again. Muttering oaths of annoyance, she raced down the last flight of steps and barely halted in time to keep from running into the backs of Fred and George, who had stopped just inside the living room. Only when she had paused did she hear the inhuman noises coming from inside. The twins weren't moving so she roughly pushed her way between them. She froze, paralyzed by the sight.

Her mother and father were bent over a figure on a bed (_a bed? Where did that come from?_). The figure seemed out of control, writhing on the bed and uttering terrifying sounds of torment and pain. The convulsing figure twisted free from her parents' holds and almost rolled off the side of the bed. His face turned towards her.

"Harry!" she gasped. Her paralysis, now broken by shock, disappeared. She heard her mother moan and saw her begin to loose hold on the shuddering figure – the same hold that was keeping him from tumbling to the floor! She lunged forward and grabbed hold of his right hip just as her mother lost her grip, taking all of Harry's weight into her arms at once. They began to burn from the unexpected weight.

Fred and George moved over to help, each one latching onto a leg, relieving most of the burden from her. Between the twins, her parents, and herself, they finally managed to restrain the jerking body of Harry Potter. Only when she felt he was secure could she examine the older boy to see what was wrong.

Ginny blanched when she saw his arm. It was clearly broken, the bloody bone poking out of the skin. At least now she knew where all the blood was coming from. The arm was the only injury she could see due to the convulsions causing his body to twist continuously. But there had to be something else. She was sure of it.

Without realizing it, she began speaking to the writhing boy. She didn't know what prompted her but she felt like she had to do it. "Harry, Harry, calm done. Shhhh, it's all right. Everything's going to be all right. You're safe now. Nothing's going to hurt you. It's all right, Harry." The murmured words flowed from her mouth until the seizure subsided. She winced in sympathy as Harry endured one last violent spasm and then was still.

For long moments the room was completely still. Then, sudden movement caught her attention. She turned to see her mother raise a shaking hand to her white face. Ginny watched in concern, seeing the glazed look in those brown eyes – a blank look that she had never seen before. Fearing collapse, she guided her into the kitchen. Alarm filled her as her mother all but crumpled onto the table. She remained nearby, keeping a small hand on her mother to reassure both of them, and watched as her father said something to the twins who lost all existing color in their faces. _I wonder what that was all about?_

Turning back to her mother, Ginny noted with relief that her color seemed a trifle better. Her mother raised her wan face and met Ginny's eyes. "All right now, Mum?" she softly inquired.

Mrs. Weasley visibly gathered herself. "Yes, dear, I'm fine. Just got a bit light-headed there for a spell. All the excitement, you know." She smiled wanly. "I'm glad you came when you did, though."

"Thanks, but we couldn't have done it without Fred and George. They got here just as I did."

Her mother peered over at the three red heads on the other side of the room and truly smiled. "For once they did something notable without causing a ruckus or blowing anything up." Slowly standing, she stretched and winced, frowning in discomfort. "Oh, I ache in muscles I haven't felt since your father and I tried…well, let's just say you shouldn't try everything you read in books and leave it at that. Now, let's see how Harry is doing."

Mr. Weasley looked up at his wife's approach. "Molly, the boys and I were just talking about that time you fixed Fred's broken leg. I described what happened when you tried to do the same thing to Harry's arm." Turning to George for verification, he inquired, "You're sure that the veil stayed white the whole time? You didn't turn away even for a second?"

"No, Dad. I was too involved with watching the spell work." He flicked his eyes briefly to his brother standing beside him. "I tried to convince Fred to let me brake his other leg so I could see it work again, but he absolutely refused. I thought that was quite unfair."

"Yeah, well, you weren't in that much of a hurry to let me brake your leg, were you?" Fred shot back.

"But brother, dear, the spell worked so marvelously on you. How's that old Muggle saying go? 'If it ain't broke, don't fix it?'" 

"Bloody brilliant, George. Why don't we – "

Mrs. Weasley interrupted, "Boys! Arthur, I'm sure I did that spell the same as before. I must have seen it work a hundred times, and it's always stayed white." She thought for a second then walked to the shelf and plucked a book from the shelf. "Let's see what You Moron, What Did You Do?: The Most Common Magical Blunders in Home Remedy Spells says about it." She flipped through the pages, murmuring absently, "Hmm. Scaldings, Burns, Rat bites. No, no, no. Decapitations – how can you help that?! Ahhh, here it is – Broken Bones…Arthur, this doesn't say anything about the healing veil turning green. I don't –" 

A soft **_pop_** cut her off. "Professor Dumbledore!" Mrs. Weasley gasped.

Albus Dumbledore nodded gravely, but Ginny could see his attention was already solely focused on the still boy lying on the bed behind them. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley hurried to keep up with his lengthy strides as he moved to take a look at Harry. "Arthur, Molly, tell me what happened?"

Arthur Weasley quickly explained the rescue, then turned to his wife, who picked up the tale. His face grew longer and graver as she told him about the spell and Harry's reaction to it. When the story was complete, he stood there deep in thought, staring down at the unconscious boy, seeing but not seeing, searching his brilliant brain for some clue to this strange mystery. Finally, he spoke slowly. "You said the healing veil turned green?"

"Dark green, actually." Mr. Weasley affirmed.

"Hmmm. Let me take a closer look at that arm. Arthur, would you mind…"

Quickly muttering "_Lumos_" so his wand lit brightly, Mr. Weasley held it closely to the bloody wound, providing more light. Dumbledore bent his gray head so low over the bed that his long flowing beard touched the floor. He touched the damaged arm and gingerly turned it to examine it more thoroughly. Ginny bit her lower lip as a pained whimper came from the bed and unobtrusively stole to Harry's side, lightly smoothing back his black hair in an attempt to calm him.

Completing his examination, Professor Dumbledore straightened and turned to the family waiting anxiously nearby. Ginny stared. _He looks like he's aged ten years!_ Her shaking hand left Harry's forehead and moved to twist nervously with the other behind her back. She waited as Dumbledore took a deep breath and began to speak. 

****


	3. To Face the Future

Curse of the Basilisk

By Adalanta

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. They are the property of that creative muse J. K. Rowling. I do, however, own the plot. That's something, I guess.

Author's Note: Special thanks go out to Kate Potter, Lady Foxfire, Phoenix, and Nicky for reviewing both of the previous chapters, as well as everyone else who took the time to tell me what you think so far. I'm sorry it takes me so long to get out each chapter (I try to post once a week) but I'm in college and work part time so it's really hard to squeeze in the time to write. I usually end up writing late into the night/morning much to the dismay of my professors, who see me the next day, bleary-eyes and yawning. Oh, well - can't please everyone, right?

Oh, yeah. One more thing. Due to some frustrated fans and their comments (see, I really do read and listen to the Reviews) I'm going to try to stop ending my chapters with cliffhangers. After much thought, I realized that there were quite a few stories that I'm reading that end that way, and it drives me crazy. So, I'm going to try. That is not, however, a promise. Sometimes, I just can't help myself. ;)

Well, on with the story.

Chapter Three: Basiliskum Mortalius

A foreboding silence filled the air of the Burrow where Arthur, Molly, Fred, George, and Ginny Weasley stood waiting for Professor Albus Dumbledore to tell them what was wrong with Harry Potter. Potter lay helplessly, unconscious and injured, on the gold and scarlet bedcovers of the bed in the middle of the living room. The room had the anxious atmosphere of a courtroom just before the jury gives the verdict on a murder case. A life hung in the balance.

Albus Dumbledore had stood in front of numerous audiences and delivered many important announcements in his time but he could not remember having to deliver a harder message. The Weasleys looked at him, trust and doubt warring in five sets of identical brown eyes, waiting for him to speak. He took a steadying breath.

"I know what is wrong with Harry."

A heavy silence, broken thankfully by Molly Weasley. "What – what is it?"

He closed his eyes in sorrow and replied, "Harry is suffering from _Basiliskum Mortalius_, otherwise known as the Curse of the Basilisk."

Another pause, this time shattered by George Weasley, affectionately (and not so affectionately) know as one-half of the Twin Terrors of Hogwarts. "What is that? I've never heard of it before."

Eyes popping open, he nodded in understanding as the rest of the gathered family nodded their agreement. _That explains why they are not so upset. If they only knew…but I suppose I'll have to explain – at least part of it._

"_Basiliskum Mortalius_ is an extremely rare disease – only five cases have been documented. It only affects those who have had contact with a basilisk." If the situation had not been so grave, Dumbledore would have chuckled as the whole room turned to stare at poor Ginny, who stumbled back a foot, turning whiter than Dumbledore had thought possible. He knew he'd have to intervene before someone panicked. "Physical contact. In other words, you have to have been bitten. Young Harry, here, was bitten by a basilisk over a year ago in the Chamber of Secrets. I'm sure you remember the circumstances."

They all firmly nodded, except for Ginny who just stared at the floor. _Poor child. She still feels responsible for the whole mess. I'll speak to her later,_ he promised himself. "When a person is bitten by a basilisk, it injects a virulent poison into the blood stream, causing disorientation and death to the victim within minutes of the attack. If the victim is extremely lucky, he or she receives the necessary medical attention that is needed. In Harry's case, his poison was stopped by phoenix tears." Dumbledore halted for a moment and shook his gray head. "No, 'stopped' is too strong a word. Perhaps, 'neutralized' is a better. Yes, the phoenix tears neutralized the poison. But – "

"Then why is Harry sick?" Fred interrupted.

"That is just what I was about to say, Fred. Basilisk poison can only be neutralized – it cannot be destroyed, at least not then. The remaining poison lies dormant in the blood stream directly underneath the entry wound. This is known as _Basiliskum Inertitia_, the stage where the poison is waiting to be released. And there is only one way for that to take place. The victim must be injured in the exact same place that they were originally bitten."

He whirled around and motioned for the Weasleys to come closer. He waited until they were all huddled around Harry and then pointed to his right arm. "You see, right here above the elbow was were the basilisk's fang pierced Harry's arm, leaving a large scar behind. If you look closely, the scar is not visible. That is because his arm bone pierced the skin right through the scar." He sighed sadly. "If the bone had come through just an inch below or an inch above, the poison would not have been released. I wish that it had been so. But wishful thinking will not help us here. We must face the facts: Harry has _Basiliskum Mortalius_. Of that I am certain."

The room remained quiet as each person tried to accept the terrible, undeniable truth. 

"But," asked Mrs. Weasley, "what does the poison do? Does it have something to do with my trying to spell his broken arm back together?"

"It has everything to do with that, my dear Molly. Basilisk poison repels magic – spells, charms, potions, everything – violently. When Harry had his seizure, it was because of the poison. His body tried to automatically take it in, but the poison pushed it back out. This inner war caused his organs to become…misdirected…and caused him to begin convulsing." Seeing Mrs. Weasley's eyes well with tears and self-blame, he hastened to add, "No, Molly, you did nothing wrong. Anyone else would have done the same thing, including me. Actually, it could have been much worse. If you had given him a potion, you would have killed him. The poison eats through all of the internal organs the potion touches." He grimaced, remembering reading once about that grisly occurrence. 

Seeing Dumbledore pause, Mr. Weasley decided it was the perfect time to seek additional information. "Professor, is that all the poison does – repel magic?"

"Unfortunately, no. Basilisk poison affects the victim in two ways during _Basiliskum Mortalius_. First, it repels all magic. The effects are like that which you have already witnessed. Second, it induces an extremely high fever. This in itself is deadly as it causes delirium. But the kind of hallucinations caused by this disease are…unique and unpleasant. The high fever reacts chemically with the poison and forces the victim to relive the most terrifying incidents of his life." He cleared his throat, searching for a way to put his next statement delicately. "For some victims, this would not be a major problem, but for Harry, it can be psychologically damaging." His voice fell to a whisper. "No one should have to live through half of what he has, but to force him to relive it all over again, all at once…" He shook his head and changed the subject. "However, the fever also weakens the body and the heart as well as the mind."

"Professor Dumbledore?" a hesitant voice inquired.

"Yes, Ginny?"

"Do you…do you think Harry is going to die?" she asked, voice quivering. Dumbledore looked at the young girl before him and felt his heart go out to her. Honestly, he was surprised that the youngest of the Weasleys would be the one to ask the dreaded question. _She has more strength in her than I thought. Interesting._

"I don't know, Ginny. Harry is a strong young man, one of the strongest I've ever seen. But this disease…" His voice trailed off. He was unwilling to say more unless prompted and hoped he wouldn't have to. He was wrong.

George looked at his twin. "Professor Dumbledore, you said there have been only five recorded cases, right?"

__

Uh, oh. Here is comes. I should have known better than to try and hide anything from those two. "Yes," he drug out the word.

"How many of those victims survived?" It was Fred this time. They were tag teaming. 

He cleared his throat loudly, trying to think of another way of answering. _If I answer this, they might loose hope, and Harry will be doomed. I shouldn't…but I have to. The Weasleys are more of a family to Harry than the Dursleys ever were. They have the right to know, if not the need. _He opened his mouth to reply…

…just as a loud moan came from the bed behind him. 

Mrs. Weasley rushed to the bedside, her large body moving as nimbly and quickly as a ballet dancer, the rest of the family right behind her. "Harry!" she cried, eyes once again filling with tears. 

Harry shifted a bit and moaned even louder. Professor Dumbledore moved to stand by his head and lightly touched his left shoulder. He needed to talk to the boy to find out where he was hurt before he became overwhelmed by the fever. "Harry, it's Professor Dumbledore. Can you tell me what's wrong?" 

He looked on in concern as the boy weakly whispered, "Hurts."

"Where does it hurt, Harry? Can you tell me where? We need to know." Harry tried to move once again and cried out. "Harry, don't try to move. You're safe."

"Where…am…?"

"You're at the Weasleys. You'll be safe here. Now, where do you hurt?"

Harry opened his green eyes a little. Dumbledore felt alarm race through his chest when he saw that they were unfocused and darkened with pain. "Everywhere," he groaned.

"I'm sorry, Harry. You have to be more specific than that. What hurts – your head, your arm?"

Harry's left hand flopped feebly towards his own side. "Yes," he answered slowly. "Head… arm…chest. Hurts to…breathe."

"Your chest, Harry?" Dumbledore asked again, just to make certain. 

"Yessss." He replied after a minute, his voice now slurred. "Hot…so hot." His eyes drifted shut, and his head lolled to the side like a puppet on a string. 

Mrs. Weasley glanced up, frightened by the hurt boy's behavior. "Do you think we should wake him up – try to keep him conscious?" she asked softly. "If he's got a concussion, he shouldn't be allowed to sleep."

Dumbledore met her gaze. "No, let him rest. He'll need his strength for what's ahead." Turning to Mr. Weasley, "Arthur, we need to find out exactly what else is wrong with him. 


	4. Note to Basilisk Readers

I've recently had a request to post something on my story "Curse of the Basilisk" to let those interested know whether or not I intend to finish it.  
  
The answer is a big, resounding "YES!" I fully intend to finish it. I'd hoped to finish it this summer, but unfortunately, I've had several setbacks including a car wreck and a sprained hand and wrist (which makes it quite difficult to type). I've only recently been able to start typing again.  
  
I've also been engrossed with my other story "Facing the Shadows" and have been working hard to get that one finished. However, I'm going to make a double effort to get the next chapter of "Basilisk" written and posted in a week or two.  
  
I'm sorry it has taken me so long, but thanks for your patience.  
  
A special "Thank You" to The Madness Goddess for your interest and the friendly reminder to get busy. I hope this makes you feel a little better. And by the way, I completely understand how you feel. I know how frustrated I get when a writer starts a story and then stops in the middle.  
  
Well, I'd better get to writing.  
  
Adalanta 


	5. Treatment the Muggle Way

Curse of the Basilisk

By Adalanta

Disclaimer: I wish I owned these characters because then I'd be rich, but I don't and I'm not. All characters in this story belong to the creative genius of J.K Rowling. I'm not making any profits from this work of fiction.

Author's Note: Well, I'm back. _Finally, I'm sure some of you are saying to yourselves. I'm sincerely sorry for the extended delay, but sometimes life interferes with our plans. Anyway, this is the next chapter. I hope you all like it. Please, let me know what you think by leaving a review or send me an email at Adalanta14@yahoo.com. All feedback is appreciated. Thanks!_

Chapter Four - Treatment the Muggle Way

"Molly, dear. It's time. We need to do this now before Harry gets worse."

Molly Weasley reluctantly pushed herself back from her husband, out of his comforting embrace. She saw him raise a thin hand and felt him gently caressing the side of her face in his familiar reassuring way. She smiled into his brown eyes and lovingly pushed an errant thin, red lock of hair back into place on his balding head. Gazing deeply into his steady eyes and gaining enough strength to face the difficult task ahead, she stepped away completely.

"I know, Arthur, I just hate to cause him more pain. I wish so badly that we could cast a spell and heal him that way. It would be so simple…"

"It would be deadly. You heard what Professor Dumbledore said. We can't use any form of magic on him whatsoever."

"All right," she sighed. "The Muggle way, then. Let me see if I can find your old textbook." She paced into the living room and searched the dusty bookshelf. "Hmmm. I know I saw it here last year," she muttered to herself. "And I know Arthur didn't throw it out – that hex I put on it would have protected it from him." She spied a couple of volumes that protruded awkwardly from the rest and removed them, only to discover a book shoved behind them, totally hidden from sight. _And mind, she thought wryly, lips twitching into a faint smile. __He absolutely hates to be reminded of that class! _

"Ah, ha!" she called out. "I found it!"

She plucked out a rather large volume with a squat man on the front cover, waving a shiny handsaw and grinning maniacally. The title of the book, You're In Trouble Now: Muggle Medicine, by Dr. Frankenstein, was written in blood red ink right above the crazy man, who had now exchanged his handsaw for a chainsaw. 

Flipping through the volume as quickly as possible, she came at last to the page marked "Compound Fracture: What A Way To Break A Leg (Or Arm)!" She marked the page by whispering a brief spell that, when the book was opened, it would automatically turn to that page. This done, she looked up and saw that Arthur, along with Fred and George, was already at Harry's side. Ginny was there, too, standing once again by the injured boy's head, gently smoothing back his damp black hair.

Molly stepped to her husband's side and led him a few steps away before speaking in a hushed voice. "Arthur, I don't want Ginny to be here when we work on Harry. It…it's going to be hard on all of us, but it would be worse on Ginny. You know how she feels about him. It'll hurt her almost as much as him, when we reset his arm."

Arthur twisted around to stare thoughtfully at his youngest child, and his tight, anxious expression softened a bit. A long moment passed before he nodded, calling for his daughter to come join them. 

"Ginny, I need you to do something for me. And for Harry," he added as an afterthought.

"Sure, Dad. Anything." Ginny's soft voice came out calm and sincere, though with a slight tremor. She reached up and absently tightened the purple scrunchie holding her thick, red hair back in a ponytail. Despite the early hour and the unsettling events that had taken place, she seemed to be in complete control of herself.

Molly knew that Ginny meant what she said – she really would do anything to help Harry. _Whatever Arthur's going to tell her to do, it had better be good. She's too smart to accept just any excuse. It has to be truly important for Harry's well being. _

"I want you to go get Hermione for us and bring her back here. She – " 

"But, Dad - " she interrupted. "I can't leave Harry alone!"

"He won't be alone. Look, Ginny, Hermione is one of Harry's best friends. We need her here to help keep him calm. He needs all the help we can possibly give him!"

The young girl bit her lower lip, obviously uncertain. She glanced at Harry, lying so still on the bed in the middle of the living room, to her father standing in the kitchen, and then back to Harry. She appeared torn; she didn't want to leave the young man's side, but Molly knew she was desperate to help him in any possible way. At last, she closed her eyes in resignation and nodded. "All right. I'll go."

Arthur smiled briefly and gave her a quick hug. "Okay. You need to use the Floo Powder to get to the Leaky Caldron. They've just gotten a felytone put in – " 

"Telephone, Dad," she corrected.

"Oh, yes. Quite right, my dear. They've just gotten a telephone put in, though I don't know why. Call Hermione from there, then catch the Knight Bus to her house. You'll need some money for the trip."

The balding man reached into one of the pockets of his slightly shabby green robes and frowned. "Hmm," he muttered absently to himself. "Maybe it's in this one." He thrust his hand into the pocket on the opposite side. His red eyebrows came together in bewilderment. "No, not that one. Now where did I put it?" Then his eyes lit up as he tried a third one. "Ah, ha! Third time's a charm." Pulling some coins from his pocket, he carefully counted them, nodded in satisfaction, and handed them to Ginny.

"There. That should be enough for your trip there and back and Hermione's trip back as well. Now, I want you to stay with her while she packs – she's bound to be upset when she hears about what happened to Harry." He paused. "Oh, and make sure she brings enough clothes. We don't know how long she'll be here…" His voice trailed off, clearly unwilling to say more.   

Molly squeezed her daughter tightly, immensely relieved, and whispered, "Don't worry, dear. We'll take good care of him until you get back. Now, hurry and run upstairs to change."

While Ginny was busy in her third floor bedroom, Molly and Arthur read through the textbook to see what – if anything – they could do for Harry. They glanced at each other and grimaced. There wasn't all that much they could do for him until he was first cured of the Basiliskum Mortalius; once that was accomplished, they could spell his broken bones together relatively easily. 

Molly peered up from the textbook at her husband after memorizing the treatment for Harry's arm. "We know for sure that he has a compound fracture, but I'm not sure what else is wrong with him. From what he told the Professor, it sounds like he has cracked or broken ribs and a possible concussion. But other than that…" She shrugged helplessly. "We'll have to take a closer look at him before we try to treat anything."

Arthur's brown eyes sharpened with worry as he glanced towards the slight figure a few feet away. "What do you need?"

Five minutes later, Ginny stepped into the emerald green flames in the fireplace, firmly announcing, "The Leaky Caldron" and disappeared from sight. Molly and Arthur had just finished explaining to Fred and George how they were going to proceed.

Molly breathed a sigh of relief once her daughter had left. Then, she turned towards her husband and the twins, picked up a pair of scissors, and nodded. "It's time." 

*******************

Harry was confused.

He sat in a cold, stone cavern lit by several glowing torches hanging on the smooth wall, staring about him in bewilderment. The wide expanse had a musty closeness to it that seemed to reach right down into his throat, making it difficult to breathe. He was tired, exhausted actually, but he could not remember why. 

He'd had the strangest dream. He had been in a blissfully soft bed, surrounded by Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. Professor Dumbledore had been there as well. He'd said that Harry was at the Weasley's house, but he couldn't see the room very well – a crashing headache had made it nearly impossible to see, let alone look around the room. It had been a bizarre thing to dream about.

_How could I have fallen asleep in here? he thought vaguely, rubbing his arms to provide some warmth. __It's so cold and clammy. But then again, he had been able to sleep in that cupboard under the stairs at the Dursleys, so he figured he could rest just about anywhere. __But I don't remember sitting up… He closed his eyes, concentrating, focusing on where he had been before he'd come into the stone cavern._

How long he sat in thought, he was not sure. After a time, he became frustrated and uneasy. His mind shifted from one unrelated idea to the next like a feather floating on the breeze, turning this way and that without reason, without a clear destination. He lifted his right arm to run a hand through his unruly black hair, but it froze halfway there. 

Something was coming.

A noise echoed faintly around the cavern, making it impossible to identify the direction from which it was coming. The sound seemed familiar, a sliding, shushing that was both frightening and comforting at the same time. He reluctantly pried open his eyes.

A lengthy, thick green snake slid across the stone floor, inching closer and closer to him. His heart skipped a beat, his eyes rounded in surprise. _All right. Don't panic. You're not afraid of snakes – remember, you're a parcelmouth. It can understand what you tell it. Just order it to go away._

He opened his mouth to speak, but was left gasping as the oxygen was abruptly sucked from the chamber. The pressure closed in about him, stealing his breath, making it impossible to stop the large snake that now was only a few feet away. He tried frantically to get away, but his struggles were in vain. He could not move.

Harry shuddered as he felt the slippery, scaly body slowly wind itself around his chest and tighten like a vice, squeezing out what little air he had left in his lungs. "Stop!" he ordered breathlessly. "Leave…me…alone!"

The snake raised its head and stared him straight in the face. "I'm sorry, Harry," it said in a worried, feminine voice. "I have to do this. It's for your own good." Those eyes - something was odd about them. As he gazed into their depths, completely mesmerized, realization slowly dawned. Instead of the usual yellow iris with a vertical black pupil, these eyes were humanlike, a milk chocolate brown with a circular black pupil, warm and caring. _That…that can't be, he numbly thought. __I must be imagining it. The eyes held him in their gentle grasp, conveying love and affection, even as the vice tightened around his torso. _

Harry began to relax. His arms, unbound by the serpent's body, fell limply to floor by his side. His legs, stretched out in front of him, sunk bonelessly against the cool slabs of stone. And, although he leaned his head back against the clammy wall, his green eyes remained locked with the brown ones of the snake. He finally realized that he was getting air again, and although his breaths came in light gasps, he found he could breathe without too much of an effort.

_It's going to be okay, he thought dreamily. His mind felt as if it were stuffed with thick, fluffy cotton. Nothing seemed to matter. __I'm fine. She's not going to hurt me._

Suddenly a piercing pain stabbed his right arm just above the elbow. He gave an agonized cry as his connection to the snake's mesmerizing eyes severed completely. His eyes snapped down to examine at his arm, and he froze in disbelief and horror at the sight. A jagged object stood straight out of his arm, a sickening dirty yellow, a foot long and four inches in circumference.  

The basilisk's tooth.

He started struggling, trying to reach his right arm with his left, but he was unable to move. The snake had now wound itself around his left arm, totally immobilizing it and rendering it useless. Harry's thin frame shivered convulsively from the fear and pain that held his body in as firm a grip as the snake. He strained against the scaly body that now controlled him, his chest heaving, desperate for the oxygen that it was being denied.

"Harry, calm down!" the snake called loudly, now in a man's voice. "This has to be done. I know it hurts, but you'll feel better after it's all over. Trust me, Harry!"

"I can't…reach it…Get…it out!" Harry gasped weakly, as another wave of torment crashed over him. Terror forced the words from his pinched lips in sharp cries, using the little oxygen that remained. "Get it out!…I can't reach…Please! Pull it out!"

The sight of the fang imbedded in his body made him feel sick. He was soaked with sweat, and his head swam dizzily. Through his blurring vision, he saw the snake turn its head away from his face and towards his right arm. It opened its wide mouth, encircled the giant tooth…and pulled.

He screamed in agony as pain sliced sharply through out his entire body, his back arching from the wall as if that would physically separate him from the excruciating pain. "Stop!" he screamed. "Stop, please! No more!"

The snake ignored his pleas and jerked on the basilisk's tooth a second time, sending crimson blood spraying across the room and another massive wave of pain that seemed to burn straight through his flesh into his lungs. He moaned faintly and rolled his eyes, trying in vain to stay awake and somehow - anyhow - end his torment. He could no longer think, his mind so overcome with pain that the world around him ceased to exist. It was just he and the pain, blending one with the other, fighting for dominion over his mind and soul. The snake twisted one last time, and somewhere, in what little remained of his mind, he heard a wet, sucking _pop as the fang relinquished its place in his body._

It was too much. The fiery agony finally overwhelmed his body's high tolerance for pain. He collapsed unconscious onto the cold stone floor. 

*******************

"Sweet Merlin, that was close!" Molly Weasley whispered tremuously as she collapsed into the chair by Harry Potter's side. _I didn't know if you were going to make it there for a few moments, lad. Try not to do that again - my heart can't take the strain. She raised a trembling hand to the boy's paper white face, smoothing his sweat dampened hair back from his forehead and then continuing the motion down, caressing his hollow cheeks._

"You're nothing but skin and bones, Harry." She admonished him lightly, ignoring the fact that he was still unconscious. "I know you were always thin, but…" She faltered, unable to continue, unable to pretend that all she had seen and done in the last hour had not really occurred. 

She winced as she looked down at him, her misty brown eyes scanning his small form, lingering on the purplish-black bruises clustered thickly about his upper body and stomach. They were obvious despite the wide, white bandage wrapped tightly around his chest, the only treatment available for his damaged ribs. These dark bruises were terrible enough to view, but what tore at her heart were the numerous faded yellow ones - the remnants of past beatings and the undeniable evidence of previous physical abuse. This was not the first time the child had been struck.

Her weary gaze shifted from his purpling upper body to his right arm, studying the contraption that she and Arthur had devised. The Muggle Medicine book had said to clean the area where the bone had pierced the skin, cover it with a bandage, and immobilize the entire arm to prevent further aggravation. Unbidden, recent images flashed through her mind.

She and Arthur had decided, once they had seen for themselves the extent of Harry's injuries, to take care of his ribs first, as it would be the easiest to do. They had just begun to place the wrap around his chest when his eyes had flown open wide and he'd cried, "Stop! Leave…me…alone!" He had started gasping for air and, strangely enough, had stared directly into her eyes. She'd tried to calm him by maintaining eye contact and speaking soothing words. He had gazed up at her, seemingly mesmerized, as she had continued to whisper to him, attempting to convey her love for him and his safety in both her voice and eyes.

The impromptu medical treatment had been going along fine until they'd moved to work on the compound fracture of his right arm. The pain of its movement had broken their connection, and his eyes had screwed shut tightly with pain. He'd struggled fiercely, trying to grasp his wounded arm with his left one, and she'd been forced to order Fred and George to hold down his writhing body. She'd never have imagined that he would have been capable of such movement in his condition. Before long, he'd started shivering and gasping for air, nearly hyperventilating in his delirium.

Fearing shock, she had thrown a thick, brown blanket over his bare, shuddering body. She'd vaguely heard Arthur speaking loudly, trying to somehow reach through to Harry's fevered mind with his familiar voice.

She'd cleaned the bloody wound and placed a thick wad of gauze over the protruding bone and the surrounding area. By now, the boy was screaming in agony, pleading with them to stop. His white face had turned the same sickly gray that it had been after his seizure a few hours earlier. Then, she had raised her stinging eyes to Arthur and given a small nod, the prearranged signal for them to pull the injured arm as straight as possible to splint it.

Grasping the two wide, flat pieces of wood that would act as splints in her white knuckled fists, she'd watched, stomach churning, as her husband pulled firmly on the arm to straighten it by his side.

Harry had given one last heart-wrenching scream and abruptly stopped shivering, his eyes rolling back into his head. Everyone had frozen, paralyzed from fearing the worst, until his chest had heaved and he'd begun to breathe shakily once more.

Molly had finished with Harry quickly, attaching his splinted arm securely to his side for protection. She had then looked up and seen how shaky and pale her "assistants" had looked and immediately ordered them to lie down. The boys had collapsed on the two light green, worn sofas wordlessly, too shaken to speak; Arthur had sunk into a chair at the wobbly kitchen table, his head pillowed on his arms. Now, thinking back to that horrible time, she realized that she had probably looked just as ill as they had.

Exhausted, she pulled her chair close to the side of the bed and rested her head on the soft mattress beside Harry's left arm. Her weary eyes closed against her own will and she felt herself relax.

*******************

A faint moan jolted her out of her light doze, causing her to jump in alarm. Mind still foggy with sleep, she thought at first that she must have been dreaming, but then noticed that Harry's left fingers were twitching on the bed sheets. As she looked up, his eyes abruptly snapped open and began to dart wildly about the room, panic flooding the emerald green depths, matching the terror that flashed so vividly across his face. 

"Harry, it's okay. Listen to me. You're safe here. Nothing is going to hurt you. You're safe. Can you hear me?"

He blinked and seemed to relax a bit, but she wasn't sure how aware he truly was. He appeared groggy now that the fear had withdrawn, taking with it the rush of adrenaline needed for him to stay awake.

Molly leaned over him on the bed and gingerly placed a hand on each side of his head to still his restless movements. "Focus on my eyes, Harry. Can you see them? Focus on me. Come on. You can do it." She watched as he struggled to regain some control over his blurred vision. His unfocused, foggy gaze slowly rested on her, and within a couple of minutes, his green eyes had sharpened substantially and were staring straight at her. She let out the breath she did not remember holding as recognition filtered into the confused depths of his eyes.

He licked his dry, cracked lips and tried to swallow. "Mrs. Weasley? I-is that you?" he wheezed uncertainly.

She smiled as she grabbed a glass of water from a nearby rickety stand. "Yes, Harry, it's me." She lifted his head carefully, avoiding the swollen knot on the back, and held the glass to his parched mouth. "Here's a little water for you. Drink as much as you can. It'll make you feel better."  

He gulped at the water greedily, the thin, nearly translucent skin covering his throat allowing her to see every single swallow, no matter now infinitesimal. Finally, he twisted his head away from the glass. Molly gently settled him back down onto his mound on pillows. "I thought…it was a…dream." He shuddered, eliciting a weak groan at the involuntary movement of his ribs. "Or a…nightmare."

"No, you're at the Burrow. You're safe here." Pulling up the thick blanket over his sheets for more warmth, she watched his eyes drift close with mixed emotions. On one hand, she felt relieved that he seemed to be more alert than the last time he'd regained consciousness with Professor Dumbledore. She ached to talk with him and find out what exactly had happened at the Dursley's. However, she knew he needed the rest. Besides, bringing up his relatives might agitate him and make his condition worse. She could not cause him more pain, not after what she had just done. Bowing her head, she closed her own tired eyes as silence spread its unseen fingers throughout the room. The clock ticked loudly on the living room mantel.

"I c-can't move…my arm."

His breathless words caused her to jump again, and she just barely held back a startled yelp. _Dear heavens, I thought he was asleep! "That's all right, Harry. You have a broken arm. We splinted it and wrapped it to your side so you can't move it." She paused. "Can you feel it?"_

"Yes…it hurts." He lay amidst the gold and scarlet bedsheets, eyes still shut. "Can't…breathe…well."

Molly hastened to reassure him. "It's normal. You've cracked your ribs, as well."

He nodded faintly and lay still for a few moments, and then opened his eyes. This time, however, they appeared dark and lost – the awareness had slipped away.

"Where…am I?" He asked slowly, his fragile voice slurring the simple words.

Molly bit her lip to keep from crying, but one silvery tear slid down her round cheek, quickly chased by a few more before she angrily dashed them away. _Poor lad, she thought, __he doesn't know what is going on._

"You're with the Weasleys, Harry, at the Burrow," she repeated in a quivering voice. "Don't you remember?"

He was silent as he tried to process her words, visibly confused. "No," he replied in a small voice.

She raised a hand to his brow and frowned at she felt the heat sear her palm. _It's the fever, she told herself. __It's taking hold of him. She reached over to the adjacent stand to grab a cloth from the water filled basin. Wringing it out, she pressed the cold, damp cloth onto his forehead. He sighed in relief as the cool moisture came into contact with his fevered skin. _

"Hermione?" he croaked suddenly. "You…there?"

"She will be, Harry, she's coming. Any minute now." Glancing nervously towards the fireplace and its cheery flames, she silently urged her daughter to hurry. "Just hold on."

His glazed eyes began to wander about the room, searching in vain for someone or something he could not even see. "Ron…Ron…where…are you?"

_Ron. _

_Oh, dear Lord. Where is Ron? Raking the room with a worried gaze, she frantically shifted through her memories for the last time she had seen her youngest son. The last three hours since Arthur and Ron had brought back Harry had gone by in a blur of fear and anxiety. The last time that she remembered seeing Ron was when she had unknowingly sent Harry into convulsions after casting a spell on him. __I haven't seen him since - and that was over two hours ago! Where could he be? And why isn't he here helping Harry?_

Fear coursed through her body. _Something must be wrong - Ron wouldn't leave his best friend when he needed him. She ached to go find her son, but she could not leave Harry, not the way he was, not even for a minute. She thought about sending Arthur, but one look at the slumped, snoring figure at the table banished that thought. And sending the twins…that would probably make matters worse. Dipping the now-warm cloth in the cool water and placing it back on Harry, she continued to berate herself. __How could I have forgotten about Ron - my own son! I should have known something was wrong, that he would be upset. She'd been so intent on Harry that she had neglected everything else. _

Harry's weak voice brought a halt to her silent self-accusations. "Ron," he whispered faintly, his eyelids fluttering closed, desperately trying to stay awake and find his friend. Finally, the battle became too difficult, and he lapsed into an uneasy sleep.

"Ron," Molly Weasley spoke a loud to herself, staring down at the sleeping boy before her. "Where are you?" She needed to find Ron, but she couldn't do anything until Ginny returned with Hermione. _At least Harry will have Hermione with him then, she thought to herself. __Maybe I can get Ginny to stay here while I go search for Ron. __         _


	6. I'm Here For You

Curse of the Basilisk

By Adalanta

Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters, just the situation they're in. 

Author's Notes: I know it's been a long time since I've updated, but between my work, school, and family, this is really the first time I've been able to sit down and actually write for a while. I want to make sure I get this right because I want you (the readers) to enjoy it. I hope that you do. Please, take a second and leave a review for me, or you can email me at adalanta14@yahoo.com. Thanks for staying with me!

Chapter Five - I'm Here For You

"Ron?" A voice called out softly into the night. Dark, thick clouds hid both moon and stars in the sky, making the night darker than usual.

Hermione Grainger slipped out the back door of the Burrow and stood hesitantly on the bottom porch step. The pre-dawn darkness enveloped everything: sight, sound, even touch. _Why is it always the darkest right before dawn? And why does everything have to happen then?_ she asked herself. She wasn't afraid of the dark, but she never felt quite comfortable with it either. Too many things had happened to her and her friends in the black of night. Still, she gripped her flashlight tightly and headed out in search of Ron.

As she tramped carefully through the garden, making sure to stay on the path to avoid destroying any of the Weasleys' plants, she tried to figure out how exactly she had come to be in this position. _Why on earth did I volunteer to find Ron?_ she wondered. _I should be with Ginny, helping Mrs. Weasley tend to Harry. _She shuddered when she remembered how Harry had looked when she'd arrived just minutes earlier - pale, swathed in bandages, and much, much too still.

__

Don't be such an idiot, Hermione! she thought angrily. _You know that Mrs. Weasley can help Harry more than you can._ _She…she's had experience with this sort of thing. _And besides, she felt sorry for her. The poor woman had been beside herself with worry, torn between staying with Harry and running out to search for her own son. Hermione didn't blame her. She felt exactly the same way.

A sharp blow to her right ankle made her jump, and she was barely able to stifle a startled shriek. Holding her breath, she shined her flashlight down to see what had hit her. Down at her feet stood a small, wrinkled garden gnome, staring up at her, its beady black eyes filled with anger. As she watched, it lifted its small foot and gave another solid kick to her ankle. 

"Hey!" she whispered sharply. "Cut it out!" The kick didn't cause any pain, but it did sting. And it made her temper rise quickly. When the potato-like creature raised its horny foot a third time, she decided she'd had enough. 

"I don't have time for this," she hissed. Reaching down, she grabbed it, swung the struggling creature by the legs over her head several times, and then threw it as hard as she could away from her. She wasn't sure whether or not she'd gotten it over the stone wall – it was too dark to see where the wall stood – but she was satisfied with the result. The creature was no longer kicking her, and her temper had cooled off a bit. 

After taking a deep breath, she set off again through the garden, making her way between the string beans and the tomato plants, nearly falling over the vines that snaked out across the path, threatening to trip her. Every few steps she would swing her flashlight around her just to make sure that Ron wasn't nearby, but she didn't really expect to find him in the garden. It was too close to the house. She knew from experience how sound traveled, especially at night.

As she reached the stone wall that surrounded the garden, she paused with one hand on the wooden gate, uncertain as to which way to search next. To her right stood a barren hill about forty-to-fifty feet tall, covered in tall, thick grass. To her left there was a small copse of large oak trees, planted too closely together, forming a canopy with their interwoven branches. She looked back and forth, debating with herself, and then, shrugging, headed to the left towards the trees. _The hill would be a good place to go but it's too open. Ron's never liked open spaces very much._

The open pasture through which she walked to get to the trees had not had its grass cut for a while; the thick green strands came about halfway to her knees and made a swishing noise as she waded through it. She smiled slightly at the sound. It reminded her of a small stream close to Hogwarts that she'd once crossed with Ron and Harry. That day had been one of the best days they spent together – the kind of day when all your troubles just seem to fall away. _If only today was like that, _she sighed as she came to the edge of the trees.

She shined her flashlight around, scanning each tree quickly to find her missing friend, but the narrow beam of light did little to dispel the darkness. _I wish I had my wand, _she grumbled. _It works so much better than this silly thing. _She stepped inside, calling nervously, "Ron? Are you in here?" The words seemed to disappear as soon as they left her mouth, swallowed up by the intense darkness of the night. She checked the trees to her right and was just about to move on when a glint of red caught her eye further inside the thicket about twenty feet away. 

"Ron?" she called, moving towards the tree. At first, she thought she'd made a mistake because there was no answer, but as she came closer and the beam of her flashlight grew stronger, she found that she had indeed been right. 

Ron sat huddled against the base of one of the trees, his legs pressed to his chest, his arms locked about his knees. He stared straight ahead, motionless, frozen. 

For one brief, horrifying second, she flashed back two years, and she shuddered, seeing Ron as one of the Basilisk's petrified victims. She swallowed hard and pushed the terrifying thought away. _Ron was never attacked. Besides, the Basilisk is dead. Harry killed it. There's nothing to be afraid of._ She repeated the phrases several times in her mind before she could bring herself to move again.

She stepped forward, puzzled by his silence. "Ron? Are you okay?" No response - not even a blink. Her heart thumped in her chest as her puzzlement morphed into fear. Something was definitely wrong. She took a couple more steps closer, stopping within an arm's reach of the young man. "Ron? Ron, can you hear me?"

"He's dead, isn't he." The statement was said in a hollow voice, completely devoid of emotion.

Hermione stared at him in shock. It took a few moments for her to realize that he had spoken the words and that there was not a third person hidden somewhere nearby, amongst the trees. "Who's dead?" she asked.

Ron didn't move a muscle. "Harry. He's dead."

The simplicity of that statement stole her breath away, as did the hopeless tone in which it was said. In the three years that she had known Ron Weasley, she had never heard him speak like that before. She'd seen him happy, angry, confused, frightened – almost any other possible emotional state - but she'd never seen him like this. He sounded…dead. "No, Ron. Harry's not dead," she said firmly.

"He's not?" 

"No. He's very sick, but he's not dead." She bit her lip to keep from crying out as a violent shudder wracked his lanky frame, his huddled body shaking. She swore she could hear his teeth chatter. "Ron…I think we should head back to the house now."

"N-no!" he stammered, shaking his head jerkily. 

Hermione watched, concerned, as his already pale face became a ghostly white and the grip around his knees tightened visibly. "Why don't you want to go back? Harry needs you."

Ron moaned and closed his eyes. "I can't go back. I - I can't see him…not like that."

"I don't understand. When I left him a little while ago, he was sleeping." She frowned. _Well, it doesn't look like he's going anywhere for a while. I might as well make myself comfortable._ Moving slowly as not to scare him, she lowered herself to the ground and settled, sitting cross-legged by his side, turned just enough to keep an eye on him. 

The young man sat silently, lost in thought. After a long pause, his eyes opened, and he took a deep breath. "I…I thought he was dead at first. He looked so pale. Dad wouldn't - wouldn't even let me see him." He gulped. "He had him wrapped in a blanket, like he…like a shroud." He shivered again.

Without thinking, Hermione reached out and gently laid a hand on his arm, wincing at the cool touch of his skin. _Oh, my gosh! He's freezing! _ She scooted closer and wrapped an arm around his thin shoulders, trying to provide a bit of warmth. As the child of Muggles, and a well-read one at that, she was familiar with shock. Ron didn't appear to have a bad case of it, but she knew that if she didn't get him warm soon, his condition would only grow worse. What he really needed was to be at home, tucked into bed, but right now that wasn't possible. _And besides, _she thought sadly, _he doesn't want to go home. I can't make him - he's stronger than I am._ She pulled him close against her side and waited for him to continue.

"There was blood…on the blankets. I knew something was wrong." His voice broke, and for the first time that evening, emotion crept in to it. "We got there as soon as we could! We left as soon as Hedwig arrived. I couldn't do anything to help him. All I could do was stare at him, lying there on the bed, so still…and then, he started convulsing…" Ron gripped his head with trembling hands, his fingers digging through his thick red hair and into his scalp, like he was trying to hold his mind together. "I can still hear him shrieking, crying…Oh, god! Make it stop!" 

A faint ray of moonlight slipped through the clouds above, and, with its help, Hermione could see the tears streaming down his pale cheeks. He did not make a sound, just sat there, holding his head and sobbing silently. Not knowing what else to do, she hugged him and rubbed his back, making small, repetitive circles, trying to comfort him. Her heart nearly broke as she watched his silent anguish. She murmured soft, soothing words to try to ease his pain, but it was several minutes before he calmed down. She didn't think that he would say anything else.

She was wrong.

"I can't go back. I can't face him. Not after…after…" He hesitated, unable to finish the sentence.

Hermione had a feeling that whatever he had almost said was the real reason he was out here in the dark, hiding amongst the dark trees, away from his friend's side. Although she hated to cause him more pain, she needed to know what had caused this, not only for her sake, but also for Ron's. _And if I don't get him to open up to me now, when he doesn't really know what he's saying…I don't think he'll ever tell me._ "After what?" she prodded cautiously.

He just shook his head, refusing to answer.

"Ron, please," she pleaded. "Talk to me. You know I'm here for you. I want to help you. Please…tell me what happened." 

Ron reluctantly lowered his arms and slowly - ever so slowly - turned to face her for the first time that night. Through the dim moonlight, she could see his brown eyes, filled with pain and - _Shame? What the…?_ The emotions roiling within those dark eyes nearly brought her to tears, and her throat began to tighten, trying to hold them back just a little while longer. 

He stared straight at her, almost through her, and answered with a bitter laugh. "I ran away, Hermione. I panicked, and I ran away from my best friend when I should have done everything I could to help him. I ran." He finished in a pained voice. Then, he twisted his head away and shrugged off her arms. "Now go away. Leave me alone."

Hermione didn't know she was crying until she tasted the saltiness in her mouth. She bit her lower lip to keep it from quivering and breathed deep to calm herself. _I'm not a child, _she thought fiercely. _Get a grip! You can't help Ron if you're sobbing like a baby!_ She angrily wiped the tears from her face and scooted back over to him, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. 

He jerked away at her touch. She tried again. He did the same thing, except this time he whispered, "Go away."

"No, I won't! You can't push me away that easily Ronald Weasley! I'm your friend. I'm here for you, just like I said before." She answered forcefully, her tone firm.

"Didn't you hear what I said?" he rounded on her, shouting angrily, his eyes wild. "I left him! You - you should hate me for that!"

"Well, I don't!" she yelled back. "I don't hate you! If I'd been here, I might have done the same thing myself!" She lowered her voice, although it took a great deal of self-control. "You were scared, Ron, and that's okay. Everyone gets scared."  


He searched her face intently, some of the sanity coming back into his dark eyes. "Harry doesn't," he replied softly.

"Yes, he does." She frantically searched her memory for an example to prove it. Then, she remembered that horrible life-size game of Wizard's Chess that the three of them had played at the end of their first year. "Remember…remember when we were trying to get to the Sorcerer's Stone, and we had to play Wizard's Chess?" He nodded uncertainly. "He tried to make you change your mind when you decided to sacrifice yourself to win the game." 

She paused to emphasize her next sentence. "He was scared then. And then when the Queen hit you and knocked you off the board…he was terrified. I - I've never seen him that scared, Ron. It was everything I could do to get him to go on." She winced and cursed herself inwardly as those last words came out of her mouth. _Oh, that was bloody brilliant, Hermione!_

Ron said nothing, just lowered his gaze to the ground.

"Ron…it doesn't matter what you've done. It's what you do now that counts. Harry needs you." She closed her eyes in defeat at his continued silence. Grief welled up inside her, and she felt the tears begin to fall again. She felt so alone. She spoke the words without realizing it. "I need you, too." She began to sob, releasing her anger, her fear, her uncertainty, and her frustration. Covering her face with her shaking hands, she collapsed back against the tree, too upset to stand without some sort of assistance.

Suddenly, she felt arms go around her trembling body and hold her tight. Automatically leaning into the embrace, she sobbed into Ron's shoulder, comforted by the fact that she was no longer alone. He did nothing, just held her close, but his very presence was reassuring. 

She wasn't sure how long they stood like that – it seemed like an eternity and yet, but a second. Finally, her tears slowed, and her trembling ceased. She sighed, then looked up into Ron's face above her.

"Are you okay, now?" he asked softly, still holding her to him.

She sniffed and tried to smile. It came out sort of wobbly, but at least she managed one. "No," she admitted. "But I do feel a little bit better. Thanks," she murmured shyly.

He smiled wanly, the slowly released her and stepped back awkwardly. "Sure." He cleared his throat. "I suppose we'd better head back, huh?"

Nodding sadly, she added, "Your Mum needs a break from watching Harry. I promised her I'd bring you back right away and then take over so she could get some rest."

"Would you mind some company?"

She just smiled and grabbed his now warm hand, pulling him out of the trees and towards the Burrow, certain that he would be all right. She was still worried about Harry, but now she felt more confident, glad that she could face the future with her best friend at her side.


End file.
